


Unburden Yourself

by Ponderosa (ponderosa121)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Character of Color, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religion Kink, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: The dark can’t hide the stressors from Gil’s voice, and Malcolm is well versed in just about every kind of stress he’s put Gil through over the years. This one… is new.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	Unburden Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tess_genor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/gifts).



> Hey looks like I can still write a short fic after all. Happy Birthday, Tess. Thanks for everything you do on the Trash Server. Enjoy the smut.

At the sound of someone approaching, Malcolm douses his pen light and shoves Gil into the first available hiding space. It lands him practically in Gil’s lap, teetering on his toes as a flashlight beam sweeps under the door. 

A faint jingle and a heavy, unhurried tread approaches down the center aisle. He clasps one hand tightly over Gil’s mouth and the other over Gil’s hand reaching for his gun. In the near pitch darkness, he can’t beg Gil with his eyes to trust him so he leans in close enough for Gil to feel the shiver of his hair as he shakes his head.

This building was on the list of potential stash houses, but if he’s right, the jingle means it’s just a regular security guard. Busting out of what amounts to a closet and surprising the guy with a weapon drawn would be a disastrous end to what has been an otherwise uneventful series of location sweeps. The footfalls grow heavier, and the closer and louder they get, the faster Malcolm’s heart beats in his chest. Gil’s too, the heavy thump reverberating where they’re pressed tightly together.

The patrol passes them, starting to fade, but as Malcolm exhales a relieved breath, the precarious angle of his footing gives way. His right shoe, wedged onto some broken piece of wood on the floor, slips and bangs into the door of the confessional.

The light swings back to cut across his traitorous heel.

“The fuck you doing in there? Get the hell out!”

Malcolm’s eyes scrunch tight. If they do, it’s possible the guy will take Gil’s badge number and then there will be a record of them having been here, and if they don’t know for certain yet that the church _isn’t_ a stash house…

“Kid.”

“Sorry,” Malcolm whispers before deliberately kicking his heel to the wood and letting out the filthiest, most obscene moan he can muster.

The guard’s tired sounding groan and shout of, “You fucking perverts. It’s trespassing, you know,” isn’t so much a surprise as it is the payoff for a calculated risk.

What is a surprise, however? The notable twitch against his thigh and Gil’s hasty inhale.

The light vanishes. “Two hours I’m back and you better not still be here or I’m calling the cops!”

“Scout’s honor!” Malcolm yells back. He drops his hand from Gil’s mouth, wishing desperately for his vision to adjust enough to give him even the ghost of an idea what expression Gil’s making.

It’s probably a frown. Gil shifts, seeking to muscle Malcolm back out the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Let’s not,” Malcolm counters, flinging his arms out to brace against the walls and refusing to budge. “I think something’s come up that we ought to address.”

“Funny. It’s a tight space. It happens.”

The dark can’t hide the stressors from Gil’s voice, and Malcolm is well versed in just about every kind of stress he’s put Gil through over the years. This one… is new.

“The man said we have two hours, and we’re in the right place for a confession.” Malcolm licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. “I have one,” a swallow and he dares to worm a hand between them, “if you don’t.” His palm settles in the center of Gil’s chest, and he moves just enough to press his own answering erection against Gil's leg. “Father forgive me for I have sinned.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Gil’s hands find his shoulders, gripping like iron, and if he’d intended to forcibly move Malcolm out of the confessional, that plan goes sideways when the strength of his grip makes Malcolm’s cock surge.

Never in his wildest dreams did Malcolm think he’d ever get a chance like this. He pushes closer, an impossibly dirty thrill creeping along his nerves. “This my first confession.” He turns his head, lips brushing against the tendons pulled taut atop Gil’s hand. “My sin, Father, is lusting over a good man. A man who took me under his wing and shepherded me on a righteous path. Who helped me grow into the man I am now.”

“Malcolm…”

“I can stop.” He doesn’t want to, not at all, and judging what he can read of Gil’s body language by touch alone, Gil doesn’t want him to, either. “I could never rid myself of these feelings, Father, they’ve been with me too long and I have tried. But I could see fit to pray the Lord let me bury them although I fear it would wound me.”

“Don’t— Don’t say that.”

“But not don’t stop?” Malcolm clarifies, his hips moving now, gauging by the shaky rhythm of Gil’s breath whether or not he really should. How guilty is he feeling right now... letting Malcolm rub against him in a confessional of all places and spew quasi-religious phrases at him? “Have you had sex in a church before?”

By answering the second question with a quiet, “A few times,” Gil also answers the first. Dizzied, Malcolm dares to slide a hand down to undo Gil’s belt, his fingers shaking so hard from excitement that he can barely free the buckle. “Busy house, nosy sisters, the church basement seemed like a good idea back then.”

“Then as you have known sin, I would ask the Lord mercy for mine. Father, I commit the sin of lust through the vessel of my own body. I have touched myself, Father, many times while thinking of this man.” The sound of Gil’s zipper peeling down echoes in the space, and Malcolm's breath thins to shallow panting as he finds the slit of Gil’s boxers. The barest hint of velvety skin burns the pads of his fingers. “I have lain in bed and taken my cock in my hand,” he tugs and Gil’s cock springs free, “pleasuring myself shamefully as I pictured this good, virtuous man,” another tug and Gil’s cock rests hot and heavy in his palm, “spreading my wicked legs apart and—”

A groan rips free of Gil, his hands abandoning Malcolm’s shoulders to find his face.

“I’m going to hell for this,” Gil growls, his thumbs brushing the corners of Malcolm’s mouth. Guideposts, Malcolm realizes a split second before the crash of their lips together shatters his every functioning thought.

His legs weaken as Gil’s tongue swipes over his lip, licks to curve _inside his mouth_ , hot and searching. Malcolm doesn’t fight to keep standing, spine melting under the onslaught of the kiss until only the dusty corner of the confessional holds him upright. And when Gil breaks away for a breath and a softly muttered prayer, Malcolm skids into a low squat. He eases one knee to the floor before the other, careful amongst the detritus.

He can feel the heat of Gil’s cock hovering in front of him, the musky sweat smell of it thick enough to taste as he undoes his own fly. “Father, should I continue with my confession?” he murmurs, fingers seeking out Gil’s shaft to trace light along the veins. With his other hand, he shoves his underwear down beneath his balls. “Do you want to hear more of the lustful thoughts I have in the dark of night?”

There’s a pause, a stretch in the silence that roars in Malcolm’s ears before Gil rasps, “Unburden yourself, m— Malcolm,” and his cock twitches against Malcolm’s featherlight touch. The jump sends the precome-wet tip bumping against Malcolm’s hovering mouth, sparking another groan. An anguished, _“Fuck, kid,”_ accompanies the fumbling push of Gil’s fingers into his hair.

Malcolm squeezes his balls, too turned on to risk even a single stroke. If Gil had said the words he might’ve lost it at that alone. As it is, his cock has turned to steel, an aching pressure impossible to ignore as he scrambles for what to say. He gives his sac a hard tug, the pull straining against the hard, upward curve of his cock.

“I’m pleasuring myself right now, Father. My wicked thoughts are too numerous to count,” he whispers. Every other word brings his mouth into contact with the slick tip of Gil’s cock, and when he wets his lips he moans and savors the salt taste blossoming on his tongue. “I ache for this man to spread my legs and put his tongue to my filthy hole. I want him to eat me open,” he punctuates the words with a wide lick, “to feast on me intimately so that I may be loose and dripping for him. Until I’m—”

His throat strangles around the words, the surreality of the moment meeting the realization that he’s dirty talking _Gil Arroyo_ and getting ready to swallow _Gil Arroyo’s hard cock_. He’s lived this fantasy before with older men in dark rooms, but this—this is the real thing.

“Until what? Go on,” Gil encourages, his own throat so tight his voice is nothing more than a scraping rasp. “What would you have this man do to you?”

“I want him to lay with me,” Malcolm admits in a shaky breath. Slowly, he wraps his fingers around Gil’s cock to take hold of it, angle it to the side and press a chaste kiss against burning hot skin. “I have abused myself shamefully at the thought of him on top of me.” He drops another soft, gentle kiss near the crown, the whole of him quivering with restraint. “My wantonness has even led me to purchase lewd devices, Father, that I have used to imagine this man having his way with me in my own bed.”

“Have you sought to lead this good man astray?”

“Not before tonight.”

Gil’s hands slip to cradle the back of Malcolm’s skull lightly, urging his face to tip upward. “Do you— Do you love this man?”

“Deeply.”

“And are you truly sorry for what you’ve done?” Gil’s knuckles brush down Malcolm’s face, drag rough over his parted lips. “Do you regret your sins and seek repentance?”

Malcolm smiles against the loose curl of Gil’s fingers before turning his face back to Gil’s cock and giving it a hard squeeze. “No, Father. I’m not sorry at all,” he says, and swallows as much of Gil as he can.

The confessional shakes as Gil’s hands slam against the frame of the narrow door. Bracing himself, he leans forward, heels skidding as Malcolm pulls off and takes him in again, deeper this time, lips sliding down until there’s nowhere left to go. He’d stay on his knees for hours if he could worshipping Gil’s cock, but the swell against his tongue says there’s mere minutes to enjoy.

He wants it to last, to savor the feeling of Gil thick in his mouth and catalog the way the roll of his tongue sends aftershocks down Gil’s thighs. Malcolm draws back, swirls a lick around the wide flare and teases the slit with the point of his tongue. “Does not my love for this man supersede my wickedness, Father?” He holds Gil’s cock firmly in place and rubs his face down the length of it, dragging his open mouth back up to the head and sucking a kiss to the crown. “Surely his virtue would not be sullied were he to love and desire me in this way, too. I worship him like a God, but do not place him above my fellow man.”

“Kid, I—”

Another tonguing kiss dissolves Gil’s words into a faint moan. Malcolm’s cock is so hard it hurts, and as he moves his hand away from its desperate grip on his balls he finds a long string of precome dripping to the floor. He’s so fucking turned on that he could possibly come without a hand directly on him, spill like he might when strapped to a saint andrew’s cross from sensation and promises alone, but he wants desperately to meet his end as Gil does. He slicks the precome over the head of his cock and bites his cheek at the blissful torment of over-sensitized nerves.

“I am so consumed by desire for this man that I feel pain, Father. My body begs for release.” Malcolm lets a needy sound fall from his lips as he rubs his mouth over Gil’s cock. “Kneeling here my intemperate tongue wants only to taste his seed, to swallow it like the sacrament, so that if he turns away from me I might remember him by this gift alone.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gil sputters, and Malcolm nearly breaks from the scene with a delighted laugh when he feels the whisper of air as Gil crosses himself for taking the Lord’s name in vain.

“Father, please. What should I do?” Malcolm asks, still grinning, his mouth poised so that his breath washes hot over Gil’s straining cock. “How would you counsel me and my wicked ways? What is the penance for one who does not truly seek to repent?”

He hears Gil swallow thickly, catches a faint flicker of movement before the shadow of Gil’s sleeve whispers down the front of his sweater. Malcolm’s grip on Gil’s cock tightens reflexively before strong, warm fingers fold over his to guide them in a slow stroke. His grin melts away to leave him slack-mouthed and shivering. 

“This man you claim to love,” Gil says, tripping slightly over the words when his cockhead brushes Malcolm’s waiting tongue, “that you would kneel for. If he renounced his virtue…”

“Renounce it,” Malcolm pleads. “I want it, Gil. I want it so much. I can’t—”

He’d tried to time it, to wait, the heat of his cock merely resting in the open palm of his hand, but with Gil’s fingers over his, stroking that delicious cock with a sure and steady grip.

“Fuck, Gil, I’m coming.”

Malcolm moans, rapturous, as his dick leaps and the first hard shot of come goes flying. He catches his dick before the next shot, stroking desperately, wringing it out on the floor between his splayed knees as Gil puts a hand to the crown of Malcolm’s head. He’s still riding the high of release when Gil fills his mouth, cock swelling thicker to unload onto his waiting tongue.

He seals his lips tight, humming his pleasure on an exhale as Gil’s fist works along his length, as eager to milk every last drop of his come in Malcolm’s mouth as Malcolm is to swallow it.

After he pulls off, Malcolm doesn’t bother to hold back the sound that pours out of him raw and satisfied and somewhat in awe. He laughs softly to himself as he reaches up, silently asking with a fist clenched in Gil’s sweater for Gil to help him to his feet.

Gil sets himself to rights first, then holds Malcolm steady as Malcolm struggles to do the same. He sags against Gil, the chemical rush fading and leaving him the slightest bit loopy.

“Forgive me Father, but I may have uh, hit your pantleg when I came.”

“Oh, you definitely did.” Gil chuckles, somewhat awkwardly. It fades into silence, into the soft rhythm of their breathing falling into sync. His arms around Malcolm tighten, draws him close like he never wants to let go and Malcolm holds on to a deep breath as if that will hold onto the moment, too.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” Gil asks.

They’ll have to, of course they’ll have to. But… “Does it have to be now?”

Gil’s chin drops to rest atop Malcolm’s head. “No, kid, it doesn’t have to be now.”

“Good.” Malcolm draws in one more breath, so deep it makes his lungs ache, then finds the latch to open the door of the confessional. He steps out, tucking his shirt back in and dusting his knees off before retrieving his pen light from his jacket pocket. “Because we still have to check the basement of this place before we strike it off the list.”

**Author's Note:**

> Read more of my [Prodigal Son fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Prodigal+Son+%28TV+2019%29&user_id=ponderosa121), or talk to me about this twink getting wrecked on Twitter [@ponderosa121](https://twitter.com/ponderosa121) or on Discord in [Prodigal Son Trash](https://discord.gg/fQaRgBD) an 18+ all-ships server which I help moderate.


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